


Seven Thursdays, and Counting

by AkumaStrife



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: College AU, Courferre Week, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkumaStrife/pseuds/AkumaStrife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac's favorite coffee shop closing down is the worst thing that's ever happened. Until he finds a new one and meets a pre-med student. Then it's the best thing thats ever happened. Well, it would be, if the guy would ever give his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Thursdays, and Counting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infinite_mirrors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_mirrors/gifts).



> Apparently its Courferre week over on tumblr, and I couldn't just NOT participate.  
> (I can't believe my debut into the les mis fandom is this obnoxious train wreck oh my god, forgive me)

**Day 1**

“No, I’m _not_ being overdramatic, Jehan, it’s a travesty,” Courfeyrac says into his phone, shouldering open the door to the coffee shop. It’s a little bigger than his usual place; more wooden furniture and art on the walls. Sunlight streams through the front windows behind him and make it a bit stuffy, but some things just can’t be helped. 

“What kind of self-respecting caffeination station closes when they’re directly across from campus? Don’t they know hundreds of students are going to die, or even worse, flunk out? Don’t they know I was counting on—“ he loses his train of thought as he joins the end of the line. “Never mind, this is the best day of my life. Bye, love you.”

There’s only three people ahead of him. 

Near the pick up area is a small table, piled high with text books and notebooks covered in colored post-its. 

He has class in exactly seventeen minutes. 

At the small table sits a guy (his age? A little older?) who pushes up his glasses, smudging them in the process, and frowns at them reproachfully.

It’s the most adorable thing Courfeyrac has ever seen in his life and he doesn’t even have the time to do anything about it. 

 

 **Day 2**  

The next Thursday Courfeyrac makes sure to have a full thirty minutes before class. Just in case. He can accomplish a lot in thirty minutes (thats what he told Marius that morning. Marius just looked vaguely frightened). 

Just like the week before, Glasses (as he’s been referring to him, because he can’t keep calling him “the upsettingly hot guy at that coffee shop I hate on principle”. It’s really just too long) is buried under his work at the same table. This time he’s pulling his hand through his hair unconsciously and wordlessly muttering something. 

Courfeyrac spends the entire time waiting in line trying to sneak a peek at whatever he’s working on. 

“Um, Sir? Can I get a drink started for you? Sir?”

Courfeyrac jerks forward and frantically searches for his wallet. “Sorry, sorry, I just—yeah, sorry.” 

The girl behind the counter giggles and shifts on her feet, tilting her head in a way that’s clearly an invitation. “It’s fine.” She has a nice laugh, and pretty eyes. 

Courfeyrac orders his drink and steps to the side to wait. The spot gives him a pretty good view of Glasses’ notes, but just as he leans over to try to make out the name scrawled across the top, Glasses looks up at him.

Courfeyrac smiles reflexively, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step back. Glasses gives him a bewildered look, but bends over his textbook again. 

It’s not until the middle of Courfeyracs lecture that he realizes the barista wrote her name and number on his cup. She dots her I’s with tiny hearts. 

He throws the cup away. 

 

**Day 3**

He’s halfway to the counter before he realizes Glasses is wearing an honest to god sweater vest. He covers his mouth as he tries not to laugh. It suits him, and he’s surprised that he’s not actually surprised. 

While he’s waiting for his coffee, he scans Glasses’ table for a name or _anything_ he can use. 

“Can I help you?” Glasses asks before looking up at him, and Courfeyrac nearly jumps. 

“Oh, sorry.” His coffee was placed next to him without him realizing, and he grabs it, fully intending to beat it out of there. But then turns back around instead. “I was just marveling at all your coursework. You always seem so engrossed. What program are you in?

Glasses cocks an eyebrow at him, but then says, “Pre med.”

Courfeyrac whistles, impressed. “You know what you want to do?”

“Pediatrics, preferably.”

Courfeyrac mentally begins writing his wedding vows. 

 

**Day 4**

“So I’ve realized,” Courfeyrac starts, coffee already in hand, “that I didn’t introduce myself last time. I’m Courfeyrac, but you can call me tonight.” He winks, too, because he is a firm believer that if you’re going to be cheesy you really have to go all in.   
****

Glasses snorts into his drink (chai maybe? It smells like it. Or at least a lot of cinnamon), coughs to clear the liquid from his lungs, and then he’s laughing. “That was terrible.” But he’s _laughing._

Courfeyrac preens the entire weekend.

 

**Day 5**

He takes one step into the coffee shop (its really growing on him) and stops, door in hand, one foot still outside on the sidewalk.

Glasses’ shirt sleeves are meticulously rolled up to his elbows. 

He turns right around and lets the door slam behind him. His phone’s in his hand and ringing Jehan before he’s reached the corner. “No, stop, I don’t have time for pleasantries. He has sleeves, Jehan, _sleeves._ What do you mean who—The glasses guy! At that coffee house I love! Yes of course I love it, what are you talking about, it’s my favorite place and I would never imagine going anywhere else. But that’s not important. Jehan! He has tattoo sleeves!”

A car honks at him as he darts across the street. He barely notices. “Well of course I left immediately, what do you expect me to do? I can’t talk to him with… with all that ink staring at me! I nearly had a heart attack from afar, I can’t—Jehan, why are you laughing at me, this is serious!”

 

**Day 6**

He gets the email that class is canceled by seven am, but gets dressed and makes his way to the coffee house anyways. He orders a variety of pastries this time with his coffee. He sets them down right on one of Glasses’ closed notebooks, pulling out the chair and sitting down. 

“Good morning,” he says, and nudges the plate across the table. “Scone?”

Glasses looks up, startled, but takes one after Courfeyrac waves at them impatiently.

“So I was thinking, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.” Courfyrac gestures with a muffin, and then takes a bite out of it. “You do have one, right? Can’t imagine the chaos it would be enrolling without one.”

“You sit at my table, force-feed me pastries, and now you want my name? Demanding,” Glasses replies, but his mouth twitches at the corners, betraying him. 

Courfeyrac shrugs. “No where else to sit and my class was cancelled. I’ve got time.”

“For what?”

“Work my way through at least the A’s.” He leans back and crosses his feet up on the extra chair. “I mean, eventually I’d like your number and plans for an undecided Friday, but I can start small.”

Glasses’ eyes widen and if Courfeyrac’s not mistaken there’s even a hint of a blush beneath his dark skin. He blinks at Courfeyrac’s grin, then gathers his papers into some semblance of an order and picks up his pen again. “Good luck with that.”

Courfeyrac gets halfway through the B’s before Marius calls because he’s locked himself out of their apartment again. 

Glasses almost looks sad to see him go. 

Not sad enough to fork over his information, though. 

 

**Day 7**

Courfeyrac drops into the chair at the small table. If Glasses was truly annoyed, he would’ve asked Courfeyrac to leave him alone weeks ago. At least, that’s what he’s been telling Feuilly every time Feuilly tells him that maybe Glasses really isn’t interested. 

“Would you give me your name if you knew I was referring to you as ‘Glasses’ to all my friends.”

Glasses shoots him a bemused look over a binder. “All your friends? How much do you talk about me?”

Courfeyrac gapes. “That’s beside the point. And its doesn’t matter because I have a plan this time. The alphabet will take too long, and how do I know you’re not going to just _lie_ to me?” He feels very strongly about lying. 

“You can’t torture it out of me, too many witnesses,” Glasses begins counting off. Clearly he’s having fun with this too. “Can’t bribe me, because you’ve shown your hand in how important it is to you. Can’t needle my friends because you don’t know them. Good luck pickpocketing me while I’m sitting down. Short of following me home—which no, that is not an invitation—I don’t really see how you could—“

“Combeferre?” The barista interrupts, leaning over the pick-up counter. “Sorry, but I have a dirty chai for you.”

He tries to hide it, but Courfeyrac catches his twitch and the way his eyes jump up to her. “But, I didn’t…”

Courfeyrac jumps up from his seat and accepts the cup from her. “Thank you.” He spins and places it with flourish in the middle of the table. “Here you are, _Combeferre._ One _dirty_ chai. _”_ He winks, because he’s just outsmarted a med student. He’s earned it.

Combeferre blinks at him.

“Now, about that date.”


End file.
